


Lying There Almost Dead In That Bed

by semi_sweet



Series: almost-happy families [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Kidfic, M/M, Merry Christmas, Sickfic, Smut, and cockrings, and kids - Freeform, attempt at humour?, is this funny??, patrick thinks too much before acting, pete doens't think before acting, pissy patrick, that's basically it, you get the gist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 13:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13077402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semi_sweet/pseuds/semi_sweet
Summary: "“Patriiiiick, please!” He was pouting like a little kid being denied an ice cream and Patrick… well, he really couldn’t do with another one right now. Actually, he was somewhat relieved at least their two eldest were out of the house, not buzzing around him asking him questions he didn’t know the answers to and being way, way too loud when they argued over the TV channel."Welcome back Pete, the most impulsive father ever to grace the planet, Patrick, the über-dad perpetually stressed out by the most impulsive father ever to grace this planet, and their offspring, three loud, unruly kids that do everything in their power to make their parents' lives one long side-quest. Except this time, it's Christmas, Patrick is sick, Robin and Lainy are in a never-ending feud, Luke is a crawling safety hazard and Pete just wants to bone.





	Lying There Almost Dead In That Bed

**Author's Note:**

> YEY thanks to snitches for making this happen again! My choice was a) angsty-ass heartbreak or b) return of almost-happy-families, so here ya go. Thanks to platinumandprecocet for taking another look over this.  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, ladzz, thanks a bunch for tuning in

Death. Patrick craved death. Specifically, Patrick just wanted to lie down and not wake up, wanted not to have to put up with a stuffy nose, a sore throat, a fucking on-and-off fever and limbs that felt heavier than the weight of living. Mix that with a trio of squealing kids all counting down the days until Father Christmas – “Daddy Crimbo” in Pete’s words, typically followed by a “dude, no…” – came sliding down the chimney into a fireplace he most certainly would get stuck in and the stress of not having a single gift for anybody and, yes, Patrick’s festive season was feeling a little less “very merry” and a little more “stressed and depressed”. Of course, his insufferable douche of a husband wasn’t much help on that front as he tried to desperately guess what Patrick hadn’t got him.

“Is iiiiit…. Something big?” Patrick stared down into his bowl of Lucky Charms. His dislike of sweet and sugary cereal evidently went right out of the window when he was feeling like Pestilence himself. “Okay, okay, small, then? Real small? Like… I dunno, like a fountain pen or something?” At least it was giving him  _ some _ gift ideas. Patrick didn’t want to shake his head in case he miraculously managed to get him just that somehow. Honestly fuck their shared Amazon account that prevented him from even ordering online. “Patriiiiick, please!” He was pouting like a little kid being denied an ice cream and Patrick… well, he really couldn’t do with another one right now. Actually, he was somewhat relieved at least their two eldest were out of the house, not buzzing around him asking him questions he didn’t know the answers to and being way,  _ way _ too loud when they argued over the TV channel. There was the small factor of the toddler that had a habit of pushing any button not secured below a bolted-down cover and shoving anything into his mouth that fit, but Pete could deal with that on his own, surely.

“Y’know, you should maybe go back to the doctor’s if it’s not getting any better, baby…” Patrick grumbled; it was probably the first noise he’d made since waking up and it reverberated through his skull as if to remind him why that was the case. “You don’t want this to get worse! Better safe than sorry, dude.” Unimpressed, Patrick shovelled another spoonful of sickly-sweet gloop down his throat, wincing as it passed through. It had been worse, this felt like the back-end of it – thankfully, he had three days left before Christmas – this wasn’t the lying-in-bed-all-day-because-moving-is-going-to-kill-you stage, this was the “fuck I’m sick of this and everything just kinda hurts”-stage. “D’you want me to make you a tea, at least?”

Tea. That sounded nice. Yes, Patrick could down a cup of tea right about now. He nodded enthusiastically, sending pain shooting through his skull. “Okay. Go lie down in bed, I’ll be right up, yeah?”

Patrick obediently plodded his way up the stairs and buried himself in the bulky winter sheets, warmth enveloping him in a cocoon of goose-down that made him feel all toasty and nice. It wasn’t too bad. To be honest, Patrick might be exaggerating a little. Actually, no, he wasn’t, he felt shit, but he felt considerably less shit. Like, he could probably get stuff done if he was motivated enough, but…. But. Pete was standing in the doorway wearing a dumb as fuck Christmas sweater, mild concern spread across his features, a steaming mug of something cinnamon-scented wrapped in his hands and Patrick’s heart leapt a little at the sight of him. It’s odd, when you spend your entire life with somebody, they become normal, you don’t realize how normal, how much you need them until they’re not there. You don’t take them for granted, per se, but it’s not always butterflies and heart-eyes; it becomes dirty diapers and eye-rolling and arguments over who forgot to put on the washing machine, all wrapped up in ridiculous co-dependency and a friendship so permanent it hardly ever seems special, but sometimes… sometimes there are moments. Patrick didn’t know why this specifically was a moment, but he suddenly felt like the 22-year-old, chubby, awkward kid who’d been kissed by the hot emo guy that was so obviously out of his league it was almost painful.

He held out his arms towards his husband, beckoning him into them and Pete obliged, carefully pacing over and setting down the mug, way too hot to drink right now, anyway, before sliding in beside Patrick and pulling him close.

Pete was warm and safe, always smelled a little of Axe like a fucking teenager and sanitizer like a fucking mother, always felt like home. Patrick nuzzled into his shoulder, burying his face in that godawful jumper he swore he’d burn someday and inhaling the scent that followed him everywhere now. Pete was gently stroking his back, hand gliding up and down the fabric of his cardigan soothingly as the other carefully held his head.

Patrick felt a kiss being pressed to his temple and turned his head just enough to be able to catch Pete’s lips with his own, not his best idea, seeing as he was ill, but he was just selfish enough not to give a shit. Patrick practically melted in Pete’s arms, all he wanted as to hold onto him, to be a part of him, to feel everything he could feel. He wasn’t sure when the kiss deepened, wasn’t sure when exactly Pete rolled them over so he was lying over Patrick, but he was well aware of the hard dick pushing against his thigh through the sweatpants. He whimpered quietly. Pete drew a sharp breath and testingly moved his hips against him, pressing their bodies closer still. Fuck, it had been so long… Halloween? Had that been the last time? Patrick was a little too aware of the toddler playing in the room next door and tried to convince that little part of himself that it would be fine, they only needed a few minutes and Luke was way too distracted.

A hand tugged at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and Patrick tensed up under the touch. “Can I?” All he did was nod as Pete’s hand snaked his way below, brushing through the coarse hair until his fingers feathered over a half-hard dick. Patrick let out a little moan at the sensation after weeks of nothing but his own hand to give him some quick relief in the shower. He shifted towards the touch, bucking his hips into Pete’s hand stroking him gently as he bit his own lip to stop himself from making any noise. Pete was still relentlessly grinding against his thigh. Patrick should probably be helping him out, but he didn’t trust his brain to focus on getting Pete off enough with a hand wrapped around his own cock, gently coaxing him closer to the point they both wanted him to be at and fuck, Patrick wanted it, he wanted to feel Pete, feel his husband inside him, stretching him out and filling him up and-

He felt irritation wash over him when his dick showed no sign of wanting to get this thing going. He felt Pete’s grip tighten a little and his free hand slip behind his back until he felt fingers push against him and, fuck, he  _ wanted _ to, he wanted Pete to just… just push in and take him and fuck him hard and fast. It had been way too fucking long.

“Stop, Pete, stop…” It almost hurt to say it, it hurt to see the expression on Pete’s face when he pulled away quickly and without hesitation. “I’m… sorry, I thought-“

“No! No, I… want to, really, but…”  _ I can’t get it up. _ “Dunno… must be the meds? Or something?” Pete nodded. “Yeah, probably. It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, he felt ridiculous. And Pete was still hard. Patrick gently pushed him onto his back and – his joints complaining greatly – did his best to straddle his thighs. Pete’s eyes widened, golden-glowing irises catching the sunlight and sparkling like a thousand stars. Patrick placed sloppy kisses along his throat, his hands doing their best to untie the trousers sitting on his hips so he could get a hand in. He slid down with them, so that he was on a height with Pete’s dick. Pete’s wonderful, blood-dark, thick cock that he so desperately wanted buried inside himself right about now. He was only a little salty. By a little he meant he could probably challenge one of Pete’s homemade soups. It didn’t help that just when he was about to get at least his mouth on it, a hand in his hair held him back and probably tore out some of what little of it he had left.

“No, don’t… you’re sick, it’s… don’t.” Patrick frowned up at him and moved to bend towards it again. “I mean it, stop.” Fine. Okay. He huffed and sat up. His head was only ringing a little.

Pete tugged him back down onto the mattress and wrapped his arms and legs around him, squeezing him so tight Patrick thought he might pop. “You’re still…”

“It’s fine I’ll beat it out later.”

“But-“

“Shut up.”

Patrick closed his eyes and just breathed, just felt Pete, fuck, his Pete, against him, heard his heart beating, felt his chest rising and falling and wondered how the fuck the world had been kind enough to create somebody so perfect. Even if he was an obnoxious bag of dicks most of the time.

Speaking of which… Patrick was pretty sure he was laughing to himself. “What?” Pete was trying to suppress it, he could tell. “What? What is it, what?!” An ugly snort escaped him. “I just… can’t believe you can’t get it up, man, we’re getting old.” Oh  _ fuck _ him! Patrick thumped his chest and did his best to wriggle out of his vice-like grip, alas, with no avail. “Pete, shut the fuck up, it’s not funny, dick!” He was  _ still _ giggling! “Yeah, yeah it kinda is, oh, baby…” Even slapping his arm was near impossible from Patrick’s spot squished between them. “You’re a… you’re fucking… it’s the meds, Pete!”

“Mh, I’m sure everybody says that.”

“It is! It’s not… I’m not… I’m not  _ old _ , okay, I don’t have… my dick works just fine!”

“Yes, I can tell…”

“I fucking hate you, Wentz.” Pete pulled away just far enough to reveal his shit-eating grin and Patrick hated how soft it made him feel. “No you don’t,” he leaned in and pressed his lips against Patrick’s forehead softly, “Wentz.”

Patrick could pinpoint the exact second he decided Christmas was cancelled and it just happened to coincide with Pete’s big reveal of the kids’ presents. Of course, Pete being Pete, he’d not thought it through when he’d bought their six-year-old child a fucking motor-powered bobby-car that was basically a safety hazard in a box, or when he revealed the Lego set that certainly didn’t cater to the demographic of “tiny toddler who likes shoving shit in his mouth”, or when he thought riding lessons for Lainy were the best idea he’d had in this decade because, oh no, horses didn’t bite at the front and kick at the back or anything! Patrick just marinated in his displeasure as his husband enthusiastically revealed the contents of this year’s Christmas goodie box to him. The fact that their kids were downstairs unsupervised was already enough to bring Patrick dangerously close to a heart-attack, never mind the gifts from hell. This was like The Nightmare Before motherfucking Christmas and Pete made for a way too good Jack Skellington.

“So, what do you think?” He was like a little puppy, Patrick could practically see his tail wagging in excitement as he waited for his treat. Oh dear. “Well… I think our kids are all gonna die… but other than that, yeah, fine, great gifts!” His head was pounding and he was pretty sure he’d heard something smash in the kitchen. “You worry too much, wouldn’t you have loved this as a kid?” Patrick shrugged as he tried to ignore the fight that had evidently broken out downstairs, just to add on to the aching limbs he was trying to blend out. “Grinch.” Pete stuck his tongue out him and, before Patrick could object, he’d drifted out of the room and was thundering downstairs to see to their pack.

Patrick flopped back onto the bed with a frustrated moan, the gunk that had collected in his head shifting around and making him feel even more like shit than he already did. Five more days of meds and a lot of tissues and he should be okay, that’s what the leaflet said, five more days until he could return to the land of the living. Five. More. Days.

“HMMPFUGHH!”

All air was knocked out of Patrick’s lungs upon impact, the 37 inches launching themselves onto him like he was a fucking springboard, not a living human with flesh that bruised easily and a headache like the doctor had prescribed a nice dose of trepanning rather than Relenza. “Papaaaa, daddy isn’t letting me watch telly!” Good god, he was so not in the mood for this and dangerously close to telling his four-year-old daughter to “fuck off”. “Was that what the fight was about?”

“Robin just snatched the doofy from me! He shouldn’t snatch. And then he switched… switched off Umizoomi and put on Nick… Nickl… Nick…”

“Nickelodeon?”

“Nickdeloneon and he snatched! And then I told him to change it back and he stuck his tongue out at me and then daddy came and then he told… told me to let Robin watch some… but it’s not fair! People shouldn’t snatch and people should always ask nicely and I was already watching that and daddy always takes his side.” Daddy, in fact, didn’t always take Robin’s side, but of course Lainy conveniently forgot about the four times last week Pete had told Robin off for being a bit of a bully when it came to his siblings. “Have you told daddy this story?” She nodded her little head determinedly. “He’s not believing me! He says it’s… Robin’s turn and I’ve been watching long enough and… and…”

“Alright, alright… you can watch on the iPad.” Her little face lit up and Patrick was fully aware of the fact that he was  _ the _ biggest pushover. Though he was totally gonna blame that on his sore throat and the considerably amount of gunk rendering him near deaf and ruining his life. He just about managed to roll out of bed and plod downstairs into the kitchen where they’d stored the gadget safely on the highest shelf they could reach without having to climb onto any counters. Lainy happily took it off him, smattered a manipulative little kiss to his cheek and skipped off, probably to her room.

“What the hell is going on here?” Patrick asked as he slid up behind Pete standing in the door of the living room watching their sons watching TV. He turned to look at Patrick, that slightly drowsy  _ kids are exhausting _ look on his face. “Ugh, she’d been watching for two hours, it’s fine, it’s Robin’s go.” Ah. Yes. “I may have just given her the iPad.” Pete rolled his eyes at him and actually… looked pretty annoyed. “I’m sorry, okay?! She told me Robin had snatched and you’d taken his side.”

“Oh, and you didn’t think to check with me? Damn it, Patrick, this is supposed to be a two-man job!”

“That’s rich!” Oops. Pete pushed him into the hallways and pulled the door closed so their whispered argument wouldn’t be heard by nosey ears. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Patrick, never one for conflict, not even when he was mad at the world, tried to back down before this all exploded in his face. “Nothing, I just… forget what I said…”

“No, tell me. Go on, why am I not treating this like a two-man job? Enlighten me.” He couldn’t look Pete in the eye, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the carpet he was kicking at as he squirmed uncomfortably. “Spit it out, Patrick, go on.”

“I just… you… so often do stuff without… without me? You… always… I dunno.”

“Oh, like what?!”

“Like… I dunno, the presents! You didn’t ask me, not once! And I think they’re terrible, Pete, every one of them gives me anxiety just thinking about letting the kids near them!” Pete had that glint in his eye… yes, this was a fight now. “See, that’s the thing! You always complain that the kids love me more, that they don’t spend as much time with you, that they don’t laugh at your jokes, that they don’t listen to you, but you never let them do  _ anything _ , dude! You wrap them up in cotton wool like they’re made of fucking china and they’re not you’ve gotta let em do stuff!”

“Oh fuck off, you know how small and fragile they are! I’m just trying to not break them.”

“Yeah and when they do break, they cry about it for a bit, stick a band-aid on and are ready to go! Kids hurt themselves, it’s what they do!”

“You… you do shit like days out! You took them to the fucking pool and didn’t think to tell me? You just  _ left _ on a family day out without me?! Like what kind of a lousy-ass family day out is it if you literally forget to bring the second parent along?!”

“I  _ did _ tell you, fuck! You were so engrossed in your fucking shitty GarageBand or something you didn’t fucking hear me, don’t put that one me!”

“Excuse you, shithead,  _ I _ was working on  _ our  _ album!”

“All the fucking time! All you do is work on damn music! Like Christ, I’m glad you enjoy it and I know you do, I know how important it is, but do you know how shit it is when I’m asking my husband on a family day out and he just stares at his computer screen and doesn’t even realize we’ve gone?! The fuck am I supposed to do? I don’t wanna stop you from doing what you love but then don’t complain when I can’t sit around waiting for you every time I wanna do stuff!”

“Daddy?”

Their heads both snapped towards the voice of the little girl standing at the top of the stairs. “Hey, sweetie, what is it?” Of course Pete immediately had the right words and of course she looked to him for answers. “Why are you and papa fighting?”

“Oh, just… silly stuff, it’s okay, it doesn’t matter.” She was hugging the banister at the top and eyeing them both suspiciously. “One more episode, yeah? Then bring the iPad back down.”

“But daddyyyy…”

“No, you’ve had plenty of telly time, you can play with your toys or read a book or something.”

She tutted over-dramatically and stormed off in a way that mirrored all too familiar tantrums and Pete couldn’t help but smile. When he turned around, though, Patrick had disappeared.

“Daddy?” Patrick paused outside the open door on his way to the bathroom when he heard Robin’s little voice. “Are you and papa going to get a divorce?” He could hear his own confusion mirrored in Pete’s voice. “No, baby, what makes you say that?”

“Because you were fighting.” A soft chuckle came from inside the dimly-lit room, a chuckle that made Patrick feel just a little bad for ignoring his husband for the last six hours. “Don’t worry, I love your papa very much and I’m not gonna leave him over a silly little argument.” Patrick’s heart fluttered. “He’s stubborn as a mule and drives me mad, but I love him. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Okay.” He could hear the duvets shifting and the sound of Pete pressing a kiss to their kid’s forehead before the light clicked off. “Night, night, sweetheart.” Patrick slid into the bathroom before Pete emerged, just as Robin replied, “night night, daddy.”

He made a beeline for the tub and didn’t hesitate to run it, making sure the water was on the hotter side of warm as he stripped. Patrick never really had baths, they were too long and too uncomfortable and a waste of his time mostly but right now, there was nothing he craved more. He must have been really, really deep in thought though, because as he stood there, staring into the steaming water, somehow somebody managed to slide up behind him, wrap their arms around his waist and bury their face in his shoulder. “’M sorry,” Pete mumbled, “shouldn’t have shouted.”

“Don’t worry about it, I know I can be a… a stubborn mule.” The weight of his head lifted off Patrick’s shoulder. “Oh shit, you heard?” He twisted in his arms until he was facing his husband. “Mh.” With a hand on Pete’s cheek, he pulled him down for a tooth-rotting kiss. Pete was, unsurprisingly, naked and, just as unsurprisingly, sporting a semi. It did make Patrick feel just a little pleased with himself that this was an effect his naked body always had on Pete, he tried not to think about it too much, though. “Your bath is gonna get cold.”

“So it is…”

“No bubbles?”

“I don’t know where you keep them.” Pete winked, gave him a peck on the lips and turned towards the cabinet. Fuck, he had such a nice arse…

Patrick raised an eyebrow at the little pink bottle filled with some glittery liquid. “You serious?”

“This shit smells amazing dude! Get in.” Patrick carefully lowered himself down and watched as Pete opened the faucet again and drizzled in some of the bubble bath. Okay, more than was sensible, but whatever. “Mind if I join you?” No. Of course he didn’t.

Pete climbed in behind him, leaning against the cold porcelain before tugging Patrick back to lie against him. Honey-gold fingers drew lazy circles on his chest, snagging the hair and making Patrick’s skin tingle as they snuggled together. “Maybe you’re right about the presents,” Pete muttered into Patrick’s hair, “they might be a bit… a little out of their age group for now.” But Patrick shook his head. “No, no they… they’ll love them. And like you said, they need to… need to do stuff I can’t protect them all the time… can you stop stroking my nipples, it’s… very frustrating.”

“Why, would you rather I stroked somewhere else instead?” Patrick drew a sharp breath when Pete’s fingers suddenly wrapped around his dick. “This better?” He nodded sharply when Pete started pumping his fist slowly, frustratingly slowly. Patrick shifted his hips a little, trying to get him to speed up, but he completely ignored the hint. “You’re so hot when you’re angry.”

“Shut the fuck up…”

“You are, though. Takes a lot of self-control not to just… slam you against a wall and…” His teeth raked down Patrick’s throat and he whimpered quietly. He could feel Pete’s boner pressing into his back, moving occasionally as Pete re-adjusted himself and… oh God, he wanted it so bad… but… but…

“Fuck, Pete, I… I can’t… I can’t…”

The hand was retracted immediately “shhh, baby, it’s okay, I don’t wanna push you.”

“But I  _ want _ to! I just…” He threw his head back with a frustrated groan. “Okay, okay, hang on I have an idea…” Patrick complained a bit as Pete climbed out of the tub and wandered back to the cabinet the bubbles had come from. It only took him a second of rummaging to produce the little white and blue box. “No way Pete, no, I’m not taking fucking Viagra! Why the fuck do we have that, anyway?”

“Helps with nausea!”

“No, it helps with altitude sickness, you dick.”

“Oh…” Pete mustered the little packet and shrugged to himself, “whatever, it’s worth a shot, yeah?”

“No! I’m not taking Viagra like some 60-year-old dude with ED!”

“Well, part of that is true…”

“It’s the meds! My dick works fine!” Pete raised his eyebrows but let the little blue pills disappear back into the cupboard before it turned into another fight. When he turned back around, he was clutching that bottle of horrible cherry lube he’d shown up with one day for some reason and Patrick involuntarily sat up as he squirted some onto his hand which he then wrapped around himself. Patrick couldn’t tear his eyes away as Pete stroked his cock, gently squeezing every other stroke exactly the way he liked it, all the while staring at him laid out in the tub. It was quite the show, Pete threw his head back, squeezed his eyes shut and let his mouth hang open in quiet moans as he picked up speed until his hips were twitching and he looked down at Patrick through hooded eyes and panted, “can I come on you?” As if he needed to ask. Patrick did appreciate it though. On shaky legs, Pete took a couple of steps forward so he was right in front of the bath, his fist still working his cock, so close to Patrick’s face, already glistening with precome and he really, really wanted to sit on it…

Pete braced his arm against the shower next to him as he leaned forward and his come streaked Patrick’s face, warm and wet against his skin and his lips, salty and bitter as it dripped into his open mouth.

“Fuck… uh, fuck, you’re amazing.” Why exactly he was getting praise, Patrick didn’t know, but he took it gladly as he stared up at his husband with big, blue eyes. Pete bent over and caught his lips in a kiss, tongue pushing into Patrick’s mouth and sharing his taste and it should be gross but, fuck, it wasn’t. “Good boy,” Pete quietly praised him as he gently rubbed at the sticky mess on his nose with a warm washcloth. “Thank you.” He smiled quietly, still focussed on cleaning Patrick up and getting him out of the lukewarm bath. He dried him off carefully, making sure to get ever spot because “You’re still sick, don’t want this to get worse.”

When he’d tucked Patrick up in bed and made sure he really, really wasn’t cold, he snuggled in beside him and pulled him close. They never cuddled before they slept anymore, it was something saved for the butterfly stage of a relationship, something that became an irritation once you realized how it was uncomfortable and hot and just… overall not very practical. But with the cold of the outside and in the aftermath of their bath, Patrick just snuggled into him until he fell asleep.

Christmas day. Or: Children squealing at 8a.m. on a holiday because Pete fucking Wentz has no patience. Patrick thought he’d died in his sleep and woken up in hell when his nice, peaceful dream was interrupted by a piercing shriek, shortly followed by a cannonball of pyjamas and excitement hitting him in the stomach. “PAPA, PAPA, LOOK WHAT SANTA GOT ME, COME LOOK!” Papa knew exactly what his dickward of a husband had given Robin and he was honestly contemplating telling his that, but he tiny little face was so happy, so full of joy, it kinda made getting up bearable. Patrick dragged himself downstairs, feeling somewhat worse for wear (shout out to the flu) towards the noise of happy children, his gift for Pete (literally just a pair of shoes he’d noticed his husband had been watching on eBay, he’d had NO patience for Christmas shopping this year) under his arm. “Papa! I got riding lessons!! Look!!” Lainy had a velvety helmet balanced precariously on her head, he really wasn’t sure if it fit her, and a pair of boots on her tiny feet. “Oh, wow! That’s amazing, sweetie!”  _ If you ever get on any horse taller than me I will make sure you never set foot into a stable again _ . Luke, meanwhile, was quietly playing with his Lego bricks, Pete hovering over him just to make sure he didn’t stick any of it in his mouth.

Patrick made his way over to them, sat below the tree and looking ever so domestic, and handed over the terribly wrapped box. “Merry Christmas.” Pete smiled at him warmly and tore the blue and silver paper open. “Sorry it’s nothing… not very inspired, but… well. Yeah.” However, Pete’s face lit up like the fucking tree when he saw the contents of the box, scattering off to try them on. Fuck, Patrick really had ended up with four kids.

He sat down on the floor next to his youngest son and started sticking together some of the bricks. Luke was always quiet, he could speak a little, but he hardly ever did. He was practically the polar opposite of his older brother and his method of silently bonding by pointing Patrick to the bricks he wanted to have passed to him agreed with his dad greatly. Pete came waltzing back in with two packages just as Patrick was handing Luke a red 6-piece brick he could stick onto his… construction. “Merry Christmas, babe!” Pete hollered and bent down to press a firm kiss to Patrick’s lips, accompanied by an “ew! Gross!” From the other side of the room. Patrick opened the wrapping on the first package to reveal… “No WAY!” Patrick couldn’t do anything but stare at the cover of  _ Please Please Me _ with big eyes and a gaping mouth. He’d tried to get this, he’d only seen it on sale once, however, and that was…. “How much did you  _ spend _ on this?!” Pete just shrugged, “you’d be surprised at how well I managed to bargain that shit down. It’s okay, really, don’t worry.”

“I… thank you…” He wanted to leap up and give him the tightest hug ever, but there was a 20-month-old kid currently balanced on his lap. Whatever the second gift was… well, nothing could be bad with the record lying beside him, safely out of the way of grabbing hands.

Patrick carefully undid the paper, never one for ripping the way his husband did, to reveal… a little, black box that looked like… “You… Pete…”

“Open it.”

Patrick did. And yes, he teared up. “I know how upset you are about that ring. It’s not exactly the same and I know you’ll hit me with some crap about the symbolism but, well, I thought it was better than nothing.” Patrick plucked the gold band out of its velvet cushion and held it against the light.

_P. L. K. W. III 04~17~2011_ 


He handed it to Pete and held out his hand for him to slip on the ring the way he had done some seven years ago. Wow, they’d really made it past the seven-year-mark. Fuck, his gift of shoes really did seem pathetic now. “I love you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh! And, I nearly forgot!” Pete produced one more box, but this one wasn’t wrapped, it was just cardboard, evidently fresh off the internet or wherever these things came from. Patrick took it off him and cautiously undid the seal. Somehow, with the amazing gifts that he would probably cry about later, he didn’t trust Pete that this one wasn’t a prank. He’d somewhat expected something to leap out at him or a fucking spider or something, but… Patrick lifted out the second band of metal and held it up questioningly. “Is it like… for… for napkins or something?” Pete just snorted at him in disbelief. “No, it’s uh… for you… and your…  _ problem _ …” Patrick frowned at him, utterly oblivious to what he was holding. “Let me put it this way, you got one for your finger and one for your….”

Oh fuck. Fuck, no. No way. Patrick could feel his face heat as his eyes bulged and he shoved the what he suspected to be a cockring back out of sight before anybody under 18 got the chance to start asking questions. “Are you… have you lost your  _ mind?! _ ” he hissed, glad that all their kids were too engrossed in their toys to be paying attention. Pete just shrugged. “You wouldn’t pop the pill so here we are.”

Actually, he could keep the rings. Both of them. Patrick was gonna file for a fucking divorce.

“Don’t  _ grab _ , Robin, how many times?!” Pete lectured as their son reached for the turkey he’d just put on the table. “Now, Lainy, you first.”

“Why Lainy first?”

“Because she has to put up with you the most, hand over her plate.” Lainy grinned broadly and Patrick pretended not to see when she stuck out her tongue at her brother. Luke was happily nibbling on his stuffing and carrots at the end of the table. Why couldn’t they all be like that? Patrick wanted another one of them, please! Was it too late to give the other two back? When was the return deadline on these things?

“Papa, plate, please.” Patrick obediently handed over his still empty plate and Pete dumped two sliced on it. “Why does Papa get it before me?”

“Because Papa didn’t just grab, should I give Luke some?” the last part was addressed to Patrick, who nodded, so their toddler had a small slice of turkey dumped on his plate. Pete really made a point, taking his own helping first before  _ finally _ giving a sulking Robin the drumstick he’d been after. “Right. I am never cooking Christmas dinner again, so enjoy your last one!” Pete declared as he sat down, the first time in three hours, as he liked to remind them every year. “You say that every year.” Patrick pointed out.

“This year I mean it.”

“You say that every year, too.”

“Daddy, no! I don’t want broccoli!”

“I’m sad Christmas is over, papa, I don’t want it to be over, ever! Never ever!” Patrick gently stroked his daughter’s hair and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I know, sweetie, but look at it this way: It’s your birthday soon and that’s nice, too, right? You can invite friends or go on a day out or-“

“Will you come on a day out with us, too? Please, you never come on day outs.” Ouch. Patrick physically winced at that. He knew, of course, he’d been thinking about it a lot since Pete had pointed it out a couple of days ago, but to hear it from his kid? That was another kind of hurt. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come, I promise. You can pick wherever you want to go and I’ll come with you.”

“Disneyland.”

“Disneyland? Oh, sure, I can do Disneyland! The first time I went, I was maybe 21? I went with your dad, I think, he took me because I’d never been. You can go as Jane if you like, she’s your favourite, yeah? And we’ll make sure to get plenty of cotton candy and we can go on all the rides, we could go on King Triton’s Carousel, or maybe Jungle Cruise and see the elephants, how about that? Would you like that, Lainy? Lains?” Gentle snoring reached his ears and Patrick smiled down at his sleeping kid. He carefully wriggled out from underneath her and put The Cat In The Hat aside before tucking her in. “Night night, sweetheart”, he whispered quietly as he kissed her head.

Pete smiled at him sweetly when he entered their bedroom. It was only 8p.m., but Patrick felt like he’d been up for two days straight. He wasn’t 18 anymore, after all. “He fall asleep alright?” Pete nodded. He’d put an already sleeping Luke and a not very tired Robin to bed. Their two sons still shared a room, it was probably time they started looking for a bigger house, although Patrick was reluctant to part with this one. They’d picked it out together, the first thing they’d done as a married couple, really. Patrick had wanted a dog to go with it, but then Pete had hit him with “why put it off? We both want kids, why wait?” and boom, here they were. Patrick still wanted a dog, though.

Pete didn’t hesitate to pull Patrick into a heated kiss the second he was close enough. “So,” his voice was low and husky and made Patrick feel all sorts of things, “how about it, baby? You slip it on and let me ride that cock of yours I’ve been desperate to get on for weeks?” He really wasn’t wasting any time. Patrick shuddered at the sensation of Pete’s hands on his body, slipping under his clothes, just enough to tease across naked skin. Of course, Patrick knew what he was meant to slip on. And fuck, he had the stupid thing now, he might as well give it a shot, right? Right? “Y-yeah… yeah.” He winced as Pete slapped his ass, “good boy. Go lie down for me. Clothes off.” Patrick had learned that with Pete, you did as you were told or there would be consequences. They varied, anything from a spanking to not being allowed to come and Patrick fucking hated that he loved them so much. But not tonight. He was too tired.

He stripped, throwing his clothes into a messy pile beside the bed before he climbed on it, lying on his back stark naked as he watched Pete taking his sweet time getting out of his own clothes. His cock was getting hard, he was pleased to note. “You look so good, all laid out for me…” He also hated that Pete’s terrible porn dialogue always worked. And he hated his fucking gasp when jeans were tugged down to reveal a hard dick. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?” Pete was climbing along the bed, climbing towards Patrick, “thought there was another layer? Well, that isn’t the only surprise.” Their lips met in a kiss that was brief and chaste but had nothing sweet about it, rather an undertone of desperation rippled through Patrick’s whole body when Pete didn’t give him the contact he wanted. He could hear Pete rattling around in their  _ adult _ drawer, Patrick knew exactly what he was looking for and the prospect of it made him excited and nervous at the same time.

He felt the metal band being slipped around his cock and tightened below Pete immediately. “Relax, baby, it’s fine.” He tried. He couldn’t imagine how a fucking ring around his balls would help him get a boner but… well, he’d let Pete give it a go. It was a bit uncomfortable with Pete trying to get it to fit around him, kissing him to distract him from the awkward fumbling between his legs, but then he finally got it where he wanted.

It felt weird. Really weird. It felt like the way Pete would squeeze his dick when he didn’t want him to get off, except it felt like he really might? Get off, that was. It was... odd… “This okay?” Pete asked as he stroked Patrick’s semi, hand covered in lube. Patrick frowned at the ceiling. “Dunno. Give me a minute.”

But oh, fuck, it worked. He hated to admit it, but it worked. Pete wiggled his eyebrows in an “I told you so” manner as Patrick moaned quietly, his dick straining against Pete’s grip. “Now for the other surprise…” What? Oh, yeah, Patrick had forgotten. He was a little confused as Pete carefully turned around on his hands and knees until he was facing away from Patrick, ass stretched towards him with… “Fuck, how long have you had that in?” The dark blue base of a glass plug Patrick had never seen before, certainly not on Pete, sat snugly between Pete’s cheeks, right where he wanted to be. “An hour or so. Not that long, I didn’t know how… if I’d like it.” His breath caught in his throat as he just stared with wide eyes. “And do you?”

“Mmh, it’s driving me mad, but… yeah… I do… I like it a lot.” He turned back around and, with a hand splayed across his chest, pushed Patrick back into the pillow as he teasingly brushed their lips together. “Wish I… could have seen you put it in…” Patrick growled between kisses, “with your… with your fingers… up your ass… and… mmh… oh, God…” He cussed as Pete ground upwards, rubbing their dicks together, the friction sending sparks through Patrick’s head. “I kept wishing it was you…” Pete replied slowly, like he had all the time in the world, “kept thinking about you… your fingers inside of me… your dick… fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve had your dick.” Pete shuffled upwards until he was straddling Patrick’s hips, holding himself upright just above his throbbing cock as he reached behind himself. Patrick wasn’t sure if he wanted to help him or if he just wanted to watch as his mouth dropped open. Before he could make that decision, the plug had been pulled out and dumped on his chest. Patrick made a point of not thinking about where exactly it had been.

The surprise of Pete’s hand back on his cock made him yelp and painted a smile on Pete’s face. “You’re adorable, Trick.” He let himself fall forward, free hand braced against the pillow next to Patrick’s head as he crashed their mouths together, hungrily pushing his tongue past Patrick’s lips. Patrick was so focussed on cradling Pete’s face and just letting himself be swept away by him he didn’t realize what Pete was doing until the head of his dick breached his body. Patrick bit down on his husband’s lip to stifle a sudden moan and drank up the gasp Pete let out in return as he slowly rocked his hips, getting used to the sensation after so long.

Patrick couldn’t remember the last time he’d topped, couldn’t remember the last time Pete had sunk down onto him, slowly and sweetly, cussing every inch of the way until his weight was resting on Patrick’s hips and he was enveloped by a stifling heat and the dripping wetness of the lube already pooling at the base of his dick. He couldn’t speak. He just stared at Pete, open-mouthed, as he started moving, slowly at first, before gradually picking up speed until the smack of skin against skin and the creaking of an old bed filled the room. It felt so fucking intense and he didn’t know if that was down to the ring around his cock or the two months without fucking at all and over a year without being inside of Pete. He gripped Pete’s hips tightly, the way he knew he liked it, so his nails left crescent moons on skin that never bruised so it wasn’t even worth trying.

Pete, however, oh, Pete didn’t even have to try to leave a mark. His head was tipped back and he was silently muttering to himself as he rode Patrick’s dick as hard and fast as he could, his hand pushing against Patrick’s chest that would for sure paint the skin beneath his palm purple. Patrick couldn’t think. His brain was a haze of overwhelming ecstasy, desperation and  _ Pete, Pete, Pete…. _

“Oh… oh, fuck, I’m… Pete, I’m gonna…” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before his orgasm tore through him, painting his vision white and shooting through his entire body with an intensity of a million fireworks, pulsing in his groin and through his dick and leaving him shaking and biting the back of his hand to stay quiet.

When he’d somewhat recovered, caught his breath, regained his composure, he opened his eyes to see Pete sitting on his thighs, arms resting on the sheets, holding him up and a puddle of white on his own stomach, pooling on the pale skin just above his belly button. “I… fuck, I…” Pete glanced up at him, still panting heavily, but with a shit-eating grin on his face. “I love you so much, Jesus Christ…” Pete grabbed the packed of tissues that was lying on the nightstand and cleaned them both up before flopping down next to Patrick, necklace of thorns still rising and falling rapidly.

“Don’t blaspheme, Tricky. It’s Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is scmi-sweet, you can yell at me there


End file.
